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Topic: 08.30.2132 - The Return Home (Read 5771 times)

Temmit stood at the front fence and stared at it, emotion flooding through him. He had decided to keep his head down during the entire length of the road that was the end of his journey. Thinking to himself that perhaps if he waited until he was actually in front of it, he would look up and it would be gone.

But it wasn't gone. It was there.

Temmit stood in front of his parents house for the first time since he was discovered there as a child.

Temmit tightened another band of reason on the mental chest that contained his emotions. He bit his tongue in the doing. The chest swelled a bit as an emotion tried to escape; a surprisingly content scene flashed momentarily in his mind: this was his yard where he used to play with his mother. He repressed even the good emotions, tightening that new band all the more.

One gets out, they all might get out. He reminded himself.

He had walked for days to get all the way out here from Our Commons, and now that he was there, sore legs, blisters and all, he wasn't sure that the last twenty paces were a good idea.

He stood there sweating in the summer sun for a long time. Exactly how long he wasn't even sure.

All the while he put more bindings upon his chest: This was part of his healing process; it was stupid to walk that far and not go inside; the house was his now, and nothing bad had ever happened there anyway.

At length, it wasn't logic, strictly speaking, that drove his legs those last twenty paces. It was thirst, and the need to sit somewhere. It was the descending sun, and the knowledge that he wasn't going to sleep standing up half a stone's throw from a bed.

Beyond the door was exactly what Temmit expected, the ghosts of memories walking about a family room he had spent so many tender years in. They fled as quickly as it took the door to fully open to allow the invasion of shadows within. The perfect and lonely stillness of the void almost immediately suffocated him, as if he had opened a door into a vacuum.

Beyond this family room he knew waited the rest of the small, single level farmhouse. The kitchen, the bathroom and the bedrooms of both his mother and father and his sisters. The thought of those rooms and the spirits they contained almost made him bolt from the entry at that exact moment.

But he held fast.

'One step at a time, let's get water first and then worry about inspection of all rooms,' he thought to himself, but still didn't make a move in.

The last time that Temmit was there he was only a toddler. Still, the layout of the building was etched in his mind like the scars that were etched in his flesh: stable and permanent.

His eyes darted around the interior and every now and then an image of someone in one place or another flashed in his mind. His mother entering the kitchen. His father at the fire. Himself hiding from someone.

The sound of heel on slate echoed in his ears. The smell of bread haunted his nose.

Water. He reminded himself. He left the doorway and headed around back to the well. Unconsciously he unsnapped the leather thong that restrained his sword in its scabbard.

Yo, Dood...I need a map, and you seem to have in your mind what this property looks like.

Any chance you can sketch what you're thinking of, even in MSPaint (or toss it to wildflower who can crank it out in no time)? I'm lacking visuals here, and they would help me wrap my mind around what's going on, what's next...stuff like that.

Temmit surveyed the house as he slowly drew water up from the well. The rope that he used to lift the bucket was in need of replacing, but it held nonetheless.

The water was cool and clean, although the bucket was also in need of replacing, and lent a woody flavor to the water. He drank deeply, for perhaps too long as he stared at the house.

It's only a property. He thought, adding another strap of reason to his emotional chest.

He knew that he needed to go inside. He would need a fire, as even in the height of summer nights could be cool. There was a wood pile next to the house, but most of the wood was well rotten and Temmit knew that it would burn quickly.

That's good. He thought. He would need to collect and cut firewood the following day, and every day, really, throughout the summer. In addition to finding food and figuring out how he might get from one day to the next. He might be too busy to have time that might afford an emotion to get loose from his chest.

With a last moutfull of water, he controlled his emotions, steeled his resolve, and went back to the front of his family's...HIS...property and in. First order of business would be a reintroduction to the family room. He yawned deeply as he circled the house.

Temmit circled the home and inspected the remaining exterior walls as he did so. Not a window was broken and everything looked to be intact. He supposed it was more than he could hope for.

He made it back to the open front door that would take him immediately into the family room of the small, single-level home. He stood looking at it while surrounded by the once-familiar quiet of the place. The Janalinus homestead was very secluded at the end of a road only the occasional hunter or forester travelled.

(OOC: FYI, you will be receiving a visitor during the early evening, so please do not take the thread beyond that point in time.)

No worries...from here the ball's pretty much in your court anyway. As far as I can see, he's just poking around."

BTW, on that map, which way is north?

Temmit walked slowly and over-softly into the house. The air needed to be changed, and it seemed somehow colder inside than out. He opened the windows in the family room to change both of these things.

Fire. He thought. That needed to be the first order of business. It wouldn't do to use the last few hours of daylight refamilliarizing himself with the home, and then not be able to see.

He comforted himself, delving into the task of inspecting the fireplace and flue, and then building a small fire. It wouldn't take too much to keep the place warm overnight, but the wood would be consumed quickly.

As he settled into what was really a very non-emotional task, he was able to stop concentrating so much on the bindings of his emotional chest, and thereby moved more quickly and surely.

The fire started, he went looking for oil for the lamps, or failing that, candles. After all these years, he wondered whether either would still be combustible.